Delicate Sound of Thunder
by Anonygleek
Summary: Kurt's been buried alive. By who and why? He has no idea. His family and friends bear witness to his trauma via a web camera while the search is on to find him in time. Focus on Hudson/Hummel family w/ appearances by other Gleeks.
1. Prologue: Delicate Sound of Thunder

**Prologue: Delicate Sound of Thunder**

* * *

_So, so you think you can tell Heaven From Hell?_

I hate waking up; I'm just not a morning person. One can't be fabulous 24/7, so I do excuse myself for any unsightliness that may occur within the first 45 minutes of being roused from slumber. But I have to admit that I'm feeling particularly horrendous this morning.

I can't seem to open my eyes and I am most certainly suffering from an atrocious bout of Xerostomia. I swear that it feels like I spent the night with my mouth stuffed with cotton. And my tongue actually feels as though it's swollen and is several sizes too big for my mouth. I can only imagine how revolting my morning breath must be. Forget Dragon-Breath, I'll venture it's more like Nine-Headed-Hydra-Breath judging from the way it feels.

At least Finn has his own room now and I can brush my teeth before he bears witness to my sheer…ickiness. And it's not just my breath, I realize as I shift uncomfortably. I feel…sticky. And just generally gross.

I must be sick, I realize. I've probably got a fever going up and down, which would explain why it feels as though I've been sweating all night.

On the plus side, though, being sick means that it's okay if I just lie here for a few minutes listening to the delicate sound of thunder rumbling in the distance and the soft patter of rain against my window. I can delay getting up. Quite possibly I can delay it until my father comes down, finds me in my horrifying condition.

Except…I really do feel gross. I want to get up and shower before I go back to sleep. And I must have fallen asleep in my clothes. I wince. If I'm still in my clothes that means I didn't even do my moisturizing routine last night! There's no excuse for that! I literally can't even remember what I was doing that made me so tired that I fell asleep without properly preparing for bed.

I still can't seem to open my eyes. It's like they've been glued shut.

I try to raise my hand to my eyes. My arm feels…heavy. Like I've somehow gained at least forty pounds overnight and it's all settled in my right arm. My left seems to have gained a few pounds as well.

Something is really wrong.

"D-" I try to call out for my dad, but all that I can manage is an odd little croak. Like my mouth, my throat is completely dry. I'm so parched I can't even muster up a tiny bit of saliva. I gasp as my tongue touches against my lips and I can feel how dry and cracked they are. Even with my best moisturizer it'll be days before they heal. And…there's an odd coppery taste. Blood.

What…what's going on?

I try to sit up, but almost immediately my head comes into contact with some sort of padding.

I force my arms to rise until they, too, are pressed against a padded surface.

I'm not in bed.

I should have realized that sooner. I am clearly not lying on my silky sheets and the pillow under my head is much softer than the extra-firm support I'm used to.

Where am I?

I can feel my heart speeding up and become aware that my breath is starting to come out in short pants.

Where am I? Why can't I remember…anything? I don't remember going to bed, I don't even really remember getting home. But I must've…right? Because otherwise…

_Don't panic. There's a reasonable explanation. _

Experimentally I slide my hands outward, along the padded surface and feel ridiculously like a mime as they come into contact with more padding to the sides of me.

I force my eyes open and blink rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes. Even with my eyes open I can't see anything but pitch darkness. I push against the padded surface, but there's absolutely no give.

I'm in a box.

_Don't panic. _

It's a padded box.

I gulp for air, but it's not coming easily. My chest tightens and it gets even harder to breathe. I push harder at the sides, but when I still can't budge in either direction I focus my efforts on the roof…the _lid_ of the box. But it's no use. It's stuck tight. Maybe there's a latch or handle or something…? My hands fumble against the padding, seeking any sort of lever or button or…anything. But there's just more padding.

_Don't panic!There's an explanation. It's probably Finn with some terribly misguided sibling-rivalryish prank that Puck came up with. It's not funny, Finn. _

"Let me out!" I manage to choke out, my voice hoarse as though I've been screaming for hours.

My chest begins to burn as my heart pounds faster and harder and my breath is becoming more of a wheeze. I wonder if I'm having a heart attack. I feel sweat dribbling from my forehead and down my neck.

I have to calm down. Have to think. Have to concentrate on breathing. I fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes against the darkness.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm down. Deeper breath. In. Out. _Ohgodohgodohgod._ In. Out. Inoutinoutin…no…In…out. _Focus on the sound of the rain and let it soothe you_ _as it_…rain…as it…as…it's not…oh_GODOHGOD._

It's not rain. Any progress I made in calming myself down is obliterated as I realize what the sound actually is.

I'm in a padded box…a _coffin_…and the pattering sound isn't soothing at all.

It's got to be the most terrifying sound in the world.

The sound of dirt raining down on the lid, sealing me into my tiny prison.

I curl my fingers into claws and begin tearing at the padding. I can feel it ripping away from the lid.

"Naaah," I croak as I feel my fingernails ripping against an unyielding layer of wood. It hurts but I can't make myself stop. "Nnnn…"

I roll slightly so that I can try a different approach; maybe the side will be weaker. There's got to be thinner wood on the sides, right? I scrape frantically at the padding but find that once again I reach an impenetrable wall. I has to be made of glass, I determine, because although for the most part it's still just pitch black, I can see a tiny red dot of light. Like…a camera? I feel sick considering the idea that someone could be watching me. Some _sick freak_ is watching me!

I can't think about that now. I have to get out.

I begin beating my fist against the glass, praying that it will break. I ignore the pain that goes racing up my arm and spreading into the rest of my body. "G…g-uhhh…" It's not working! But here has to be a way out. There just has to be.

I can barely force my fingers to close on the padding as I strain to rip it from the wall. My effort pays off as I feel a slight breeze filling the coff…box. A breeze means an opening. I slide my hand along the wall seeking that opening. It's quite small, I discover…I can't even fit my hand into it. Just a few fingers. And no amount of clawing will make it any larger.

But there's a breeze so it must go somewhere. "Please…let me out," I plead with whoever is doing this to me; whoever is still piling dirt on top of me. But I only hear more thumping as whoever it is buries me deeper. "Please," I beg for my life.

But whoever is out there ignores me.

Who is out there? Obviously it's not Finn; there's no way he'd take a 'joke' this far. Not even Puck would do something like this.

Why is this happening to me? And why can't I remember what happened…? How I got here? Anything?

My dad must be frantic by now. I have no idea how long I've been…missing? Am I missing. I'm missing. God. How long? Dad must be…looking for me. Oh, please, Dad, find me. Help me, Dad…

I begin frantically clawing at the wood again. I have to get out. I have to fight. I can't just lie here and let some…bigot . It's got to be a bigot right? I'm just a random target picked because I stand out in a crowd just for being me. This isn't about _me_. It can't be. I haven't done anything to anyone…well…okay I'm not perfect and I can think of a few people who might hold grudges with reason. Somehow I can't imagine that Rachel Berry has anything to do with this. I try to laugh at that thought, but it comes out as a sob. And then I can't stop sobbing.

_Help me, Daddy…find me, _please.

I can't control my body as it's wracked by shivers and sobs. I can feel the snot and blood and sweat and tears as I kick and punch and claw and thrash and scream and…

I'm not sure how long it is before my voice finally gives out and though I go through the motions, can feel the air rushing from my lungs, I can no longer produce a sound.

Worse, I realize as I collapse onto my back, I can no longer hear anyone outside. The dirt has stopped raining.

I was wrong before.

The scariest sound in the world is

silence.


	2. Chapter One: Learning to Fly FinnPOV

Part One: Before

Chapter One: Learning to Fly (Finn POV)

_Moving on and changing sides. Dreaming of a new day, cast aside the other way. - Pink Floyd, Burning Bridges_

I know I'm staring, but I can't help it. He can't be serious. I know he's…_Kurt_ and all, but this is over the top, even for him. Sometimes I wonder if he's some sort of…I don't know the word, but someone who actually likes getting beat up.

"You're not really going to school like that are you?" The glare he throws at me indicates that, indeed, he is.

I can see Burt eyeing me over the top of his newspaper and quickly force a smile. "Cool."

Not cool. Not even a little bit cool.

Come on. _Wings_, Kurt? What the hell? And the overly-glittery halo thing has to go.

But I wait until Burt's out of the room before I try to talk sense into Kurt. I know Burt will support just about anything Kurt does, but…I'm actually surprised he's letting Kurt walk out of the house looking like this.

"Dude, you _can't_ wear that," I keep my voice low, in case Burt's still lurking nearby.

"It's Halloween, Finn," Kurt replies sharply. "My costume is no different than yours."

I beg to differ. It's way different.

I borrowed some of Burt's overalls, padded them a little, and am dressed as Mario. I don't care what anyone says, that game's still awesome.

"You're wearing a _dress,_" I try to talk reason to him. Considering how short it is, I'm not sure that it actually qualifies as a dress, but it looks a lot like some of the dresses Tina sometimes wears. The really tight form-fitting ones that have like shoelaces criss-crossing up the front holding them closed. It looks a lot like those, except that it's white instead of her usual black. I didn't know they made those things for guys…actually they probably don't. He probably borrowed it from Tina. I wonder if she'll lend it to Rachel; I bet Rachel would look really _hot_ in it…

"It's a _corset_ _tunic top_," Kurt corrects me as he casually stands over the sink peeling an orange. How he can eat that crap for breakfast is beyond me. "And I'm wearing leggings." As if that's supposed to make any sort of difference. In his world, it probably does. "Besides, if you'd listened you'd know that the Glee Club is dressing as an angelic choir."

I was listening. But…it wasn't the Glee Club. It was the Glee _girls._ It's on the tip of my tongue to point that out, but then I remember that he considers himself to be an 'honorary girl'. And I know he's doing a number with them at this afternoon's Invitational, so probably he's obligated to do the angel thing.

Still, he could have worn…I don't know…a less _girlie _costume and changed into the angel thing for the performance. Or maybe he could just wear a white t-shirt instead of the course-ette thingie. He could still be an angel, just…a toned down angel.

I hear my mom coming, so I can't really make that suggestion.

"Good morning, my handsome men," she addresses us in the same embarrassing way she does every morning. "You look absolutely divine," she teases Kurt, giving him a little wink. It takes me a moment before I get it. An angel. Divine. Got it. I wish she wouldn't encourage him, though.

He smiles brightly and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Morning, Carole! Thank you! And I love the tutu; I told you you'd make a fabulous ballerina!"

She doesn't. She really _really _doesn't. But it's Halloween, so I nod, and give her the thumbs up. She cocks her head as she looks at me.

"Mario," I explain my costume. She still looks blank, so I add, "You know…Super Mario Brothers."

"Oh! Well you look great!" she gushes.

"You know, I have just the perfect tiara to go with your costume!" Kurt announces. Of course he does. I hope neither of them notices me rolling my eyes. I don't think they do because Kurt takes hold of Mom's arm and pulls her toward the basement stairs.

"I'm taking off in about five if you want a ride," I call down to Kurt, knowing I have to offer, but hoping that he'll decline.

I love my not-quite-step-brother; I really do. We've had this sort of conversation before, and I get that he just wants to be himself. And he should be himself, of course. I just sometimes wish he was a little…_less _himself. Or maybe that he could…I don't know…change himself a little to meet people half-way or something. I feel a little guilty, knowing that it's not really fair to think that way, but…it would just make my life a whole lot easier.

I heave a sigh of relief as Kurt calls back upstairs that Mercedes is picking him up in ten, so I'm free to go on without him.

I was right about Rachel looking really hot in an outfit like Kurt's. Turns out that the girls (and Kurt) must have gone shopping together because all of them are wearing pretty much identical costumes. Well, except they're all wearing skirts…except Kurt and his 'leggings', of course. And Mercedes; she's wearing white jeans. So…alterations to the outfit would've been okay; Kurt could have worn a t-shirt, I figure. The girls wouldn't have gotten mad, and it'd save me a day of looking out for Kurt, trying to prevent him from getting bullied.

Case in point, just after third period as I'm walking to my locker, I hear his voice challenging someone, "Go ahead and do it!" He sounds angry and upset. If there were any doubt in my mind about what was going on, it was squashed as he added. "Four against one. You've got me cornered. Must make you feel proud. So do it!" Great. I really didn't feel like fighting today. It shouldn't be my job to have to constantly…protect his honor.

Except that as his brother, it is kind of my job. And I would never want to see him hurt. And this is really starting to feel like kind of one of those days ya voo (or whatever) things. I suddenly feel really guilty. I'm no better than those guys. Well, okay, I'm a little better; it's not like I'd ever physically hurt Kurt (just thinking about that makes me feel sick). And I'd never make him feel bad just for being…okay, so that's what I've been doing all day.

I suck at being a brother.

I take off at a run, hoping I can keep Kurt from getting injured. I'm not completely surprised when I see Matt, Mike, and Puck all heading quickly in the same direction. Ha. Four against four. Well…five if including Kurt.

I almost stop in shock when I hear a really loud crash around the corner. I think someone-_Kurt!-_must have just been thrown really hard into the lockers. I hear him let out an odd little cry and I run faster. Whoever did that isn't just trying to scare Kurt; that sounds like someone trying to _really_ hurt him!

As I slide around the corner, Puck at my heels, I stop short. There's a huge dent in one of the locker doors, but it's not Kurt who did it. Karofsky is on the ground clutching his hand. There are honest-to-God tears streaming down his face. I can't help but grin as I realize that Kurt must have dodged. The grin fades quickly, though, as I then realize just how hard Karofsky must have been intending to punch my brother.

I look around wildly, needing to make sure Kurt's okay.

Trent Nelson, one of the particularly large guys on our football team, has picked him up, one arm wrapped around his chest while the other is slapped over Kurt's mouth. Kurt isn't standing for it, and is kind of flailing and kicking out at his other tormenters, Azimio Adams and Kent Jacobs, as they try to get closer. As they try to get their shots in at him. I feel a little bit of pride as I see Kurt kick Azimio in the chest, but wince as Kent manages to grab his other leg, preventing him from being able to continue his fight.

"Let him go!" I demand, pushing my way through the small crowd that has gathered around to watch.

Almost immediately, Azimio and Kent back away. For a split second I'm a little surprised; I didn't know I scare them that much. But then I remember that I've got three other guys standing right there behind me.

"I said, let him go," I repeat, glaring at Trent.

Trent lets out a disgusted snort as he looks at us. "I told you all that this thing was catching…" I roll my eyes, unimpressed. "You want me to let him go? Fine. I'll let him go." I have a really bad feeling about the way he says it.

Sure enough, he doesn't just let Kurt go, but instead hoists him higher.

Kurt lets out a startled squeal as Trent adjusts his grip and swings Kurt up even higher. I can do nothing to stop it as my brother is suddenly thrust down and slams hard to the ground. And suddenly the whole hall became silent save for an isolated gasp that may actually have come from Puck.

"Damn," Trent sneers down at him. "I thought fairies was supposed to fly."

"He's an angel, you asshole," I blurt out without even thinking about what I was saying. I quickly kneel down beside Kurt, almost afraid to touch him. "You okay?" I ask. I flinch as I hear Trent being rammed against the lockers. Puck can take care of him. I need to take care of Kurt.

"'M…fine," he insists as he struggles to get up. The way he seems to be struggling to breathe kind of makes me think he's not, though.

Mike stoops down beside us, offering Kurt his arm to lean against.

I should have done that.

I take Kurt's other arm and together Mike and I help him to his feet. He's still gasping for air. He might have broken ribs. Sometimes when that happens one of them punctures a lung. He looks at me with wide eyes as I carefully start checking him over. I wonder if we should take of his course-ette. I reach for the lace but his hand quickly slaps mine away.

"Just…knocked…wind…out," he says between gasps.

I nod and stop my prodding. Mike and I exchange worried glances as we give Kurt a couple minutes to recover. During that time, Figgins and a couple of the teachers have arrived and have sent Karofsky to go see the nurse, and Puck, Matt, Trent, and the other guys to his office so they can find out exactly what happened and figure out who was going to be given what sort of punishment.

"You okay, Kurt?" Mr. Schue asks. Kurt nods, giving him a little smile. "Finn? Mike?" Schue includes us in his concerned questioning.

"There were four of them," I exclaim angrily. "Four on one," I add, clenching my jaw.

Schue looks grim as he nods, his eyes going back to Kurt, who is finally starting to sound better…less wheezy. But he suddenly looks a lot more upset. "I think I broke my wing," he gripes. I almost laugh. He's going to be fine.

Schue smiles and pats his shoulder. "Glad you're okay. I'm going to go talk to Figgins, make sure this all gets straightened out. Mike, you want to tell me what happened?" Schue looks at me, then pointedly at Kurt. I get the message.

"Want to go see the nurse or should I walk you to class?"

Kurt refuses to go see the nurse, which doesn't surprise me in the slightest. Besides, Karofsky's probably still in there, if he hasn't been taken to the hospital or something with a broken hand. I wonder if he'll be out for the season. "Nice dodge," I comment as I sling my arm casually around his shoulder. I'm not sure he realizes it when he leans against me a little bit as we walk down the hall together.

"Is it my fault that he thought I'd actually just stand there and let him hit me?" Kurt replies, the corners of his lips curving up into a smug little smile. I don't tell him that _I_ kind of thought he would do exactly that.

Once Kurt's safely to class I head back to the Principal's office, where Coach, Schue, and Figgins are all arguing about what happened. "I can't just suspend these boys," Figgins motions to Trent and his goons, "and not punish these boys"-Puck and Matt-"for the same thing."

"It wasn't the same thing," I blurt out, my temper growing.

"Finn," Mr. Schue holds up a hand to silence me.

"Well it wasn't," I snap. I see Figgins' mouth open, and can tell he's going to dismiss me. "These guys pick on Kurt all the time." That makes it sound so mild. "Look…how is this fair, Mr. Figgins? There are four of them. Every single one of them outweighs Kurt by at least 50 pounds." Closer to a hundred in Trent's case, and probably Azimio's as well. "And yet they think it's okay for them to threaten him. To corner him and push him around. Or destroy his things. To _hit_ him. To…throw him in the garbage." I feel my stomach churn as I shamefully think back to when I was right there alongside them. I didn't hit anyone, but…I didn't stop them from hitting, either. "He could really have been hurt just now. And why? Because he _exists_…and that he wants to be free to express who he is." My guilt increases as I think about how just this morning I tried to stop him from expressing himself, too. But I can't stop myself from continuing. "Dave Karofsky actually tried to hit him so hard that when he missed, he dented a locker, and quite possibly broke his hand," I make known, going so far as to name names. I know that makes me a snitch, but I don't care. There's been too much of this happening, for far too long. To Kurt, and to other kids, too. And it's all from these same assholes that once upon a time I considered to be my friends.

Honestly I don't remember all of what I said in that office, except that I know I mentioned Rachel's gay fathers, and how they have connections, and how Puck and Matt were only detaining Trent to keep him from hurting Kurt any farther. That was probably not entirely true, but they both nodded, as did Mr. Schue, backing us up.

In the end, I must have said the right things because Matt, Puck, and I are released to go back to class while suspension papers are being written up for Azimio and Kent. And expulsion papers for Trent and Karofsky.

I know this is probably not over, but at least we'll have a few weeks to regroup and figure out how to keep anything like this from happening again.

In the meantime, I head to my locker to get my keys.

I have some new angel wings to find.

* * *

Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and/or alerted so far. Can't tell you how much I appreciate the encouragement! Hope you're still enjoying the story so far!


	3. Chapter Two: Paranoid Eyes BurtPOV

Chapter Two: Paranoid Eyes (Burt POV)

_You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom. – Pink Floyd, Shine on You Crazy Diamond (Pts I-V)_

I think I need to make a point of coming to these concert things more often. My heart swells with pride as I watch my boys up on that stage.

Finn's got a great set of pipes and it sure seems that Schuester fellow likes featuring him and that starlet girlfriend of his an awful lot. Proud as I am of him, and much as I love watching him shine, I start to wonder if any of the other kids (namely, Kurt) ever get their chance.

I'm not biased or nothing, but my Kurt's pretty amazing when he lets loose and really gets singing. I don't think he knows it, and would probably be pretty mortified if he did, but some mornings I sit at the top of the basement stairs listening to him while he sings entire concerts to me from his shower.

So I admit, I'm starting to get a little annoyed, even though I like listening to Finn. Surely Schuester recognizes that more than just these two can sing.

My fears are put to rest when the second part of their set comes around. Finn and the other guys head off to the wings and the girls and Kurt launch into their own little show.

It's admittedly a little bit on the cheesy side as the bunch of them, dressed in their bordering-on-bawdy little angel costumes, singing a medley of songs about angels. Like the Latina girl, whatsername, sang bits about being "no angel", and Kurt's pal Mercedes sang some song about 'loving angels instead'. That daffy cheerleader did a pretty good version of a song from my day about Heaven being a place on earth…no real mentions of Angels, but I suppose it sort of fit the theme.

And then it was Kurt's turn. I watched as at first he sat on the lowest step of the bleachers while the girls all gathered at the top, on the opposite side. And they're all pointedly looking the other way.

_Well I'm the guy who never learned to dance,_

_Never even got one second glance_

_Across the crowded room was close enough_

_I could look, but I could never touch._

It almost hurts watching him as he sings his slow, soulful song. I don't recognize it at all, but he clearly connects to it and it's not hard for me to imagine why when I listen to the lyrics.

It's got to be hard for him. I know what I was like at his age. A new girl every week and all…I wasn't exactly the shining example I'd want to set for him.

Thing is, I don't think he'd even want that for himself even if he could; he's not like me when I was his age. When my Kurt falls for someone, he falls hard. And he's the type of kid who will give his whole heart to whichever gir…boy is lucky enough to win it.

The problem is…there aren't tons of boys around here like Kurt. No boy that even considers wanting the chance to win that heart of his. If there are any, they sure aren't coming forward. Maybe they're out there, but they aren't strong like my boy. Not ready to show the world who they are. And my Kurt deserves nothing less than someone who will stand proud beside him.

But I can't help but think that at some point, some boy is going to come around and Kurt…well…he'll be so happy to find _someone_ that just maybe he'll settle for the wrong someone. Maybe even a _really_ wrong someone. And that scares the hell out of me more than just about anything else.

I shake myself from my darkening thoughts as I see that the stage has changed. That daffy cheerleader Kurt sometimes brings home has come down to meet him center stage and they dance together as he continues to sing.

_So tonight I'll ask the stars above_

'_How did I ever win your love?'_

_What did I do? What did I say?_

_To turn your Angel Eyes my way?_

I still don't know this song, but I'll have to have him tell me about it when he gets off stage. Maybe see if he'd record it for me or something. 'Cause I think it's just about the best song I've ever heard.

But I'm not biased or nothing.

After Kurt, a couple more of the girls sing about angels before they leave and the fellas are back, doing their own medley that starts with a cover of Mitch Ryder's Devil in a Blue Dress to contrast with the girls' set.

And finally the whole team…whole _choir_ is back to wrap up their set with one of their big crowd pleaser numbers.

And when they finish? Well, I don't think I've clapped and cheered so hard in my life. It's definitely worth having to stay a little late at the garage tonight to do all the work I should've done instead of coming to the show.

I head out to the lobby to see if I can find the boys. They probably want to ride back on the bus with the others, but I figure it'd be nice to just let them know I was here and that I thought they did a great job.

I spot a couple angels amidst the crowd, but none of them are mine. Finn, on the other hand, I find quite easily. He towers above the crowd.

"Great job, Buddy," I congratulate him, slapping him on the back and giving him a big grin. "I know your mom's sorry she couldn't make it."

"It's okay," he assures me. He looks like it's more than okay. When I raise an eyebrow he looks a little bit embarrassed. "Not sure any of the other parents would come dressed like ballerinas."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Probably not," I agree. "But would it have been so bad if she had?" When it looks like he's going to nod the affirmative, I can't resist teasing, "You should just thank your lucky stars that _I_ didn't."

His eyes widen for a moment, but then he grins.

"So…you seen Kurt? I want to see him before I take off back to the garage."

Finn shrugs. "He was here a minute ago…"

We both look around, and at first I don't see him anywhere.

"Maybe he went out to the bus already?" Finn considers out loud.

"Do you really think Kurt would go sit on a _bus_ while there are adoring fans around?" I chuckle as I notice that each of the angels present have been surrounded by admirers. And from the looks I seen in the audience during his performance, if Kurt weren't how he is, I do believe he'd probably have his pick of girls wanting to follow him home tonight, too. Or, and it makes me a little uncomfortable to think about it, and I know sooner or later it'll happen, but…there might just be a boy or two watching for him to make an appearance, too. And I really do want that for him, even if it does make me a little uncomfortable thinking about it.

Finn laughs. "Good point. Would you believe at our last concert some old guy gave him flowers?"

I don't like the sound of that. "Old guy?"

"Oh not like _really_ old, just like…maybe your age?"

If that weren't setting of some little internal alarm bells, I'd probably give Finn a hard time for calling me old. "He gave him flowers." I state. Finn nods. "I just want to make sure I'm understanding the situation. Is this 'old guy' someone we know?"

Finn frowns and his brow furrows. He shrugs a little bit. "I don't know who he is. He's at a lot of our events and stuff, though, so he's probably someone's dad."

Probably he's right.

Probably I'm a little worried about nothing.

But I think I need to make sure that's the case.

"Well. Help me find Kurt, would you?"

Finn nods. "I don't see him out here, so he probably went back to the greenroom or…the bathroom or something," he starts leading me away from the lobby toward where the performers all get ready and stuff. "Hey, Puck," Finn calls out as the formerly mohawked kid emerges from the performer area. "Have you seen Kurt?"

Puckerman smirks. "Yeah, I think he's trying to head back to the greenroom to hide."

That don't sound like Kurt. Apparently Finn agrees. "Uh…"

"His admirer's back," Puckerman explains.

I tense.

"That uh…old guy?" Finn asks.

"Yeah. Would you believe he brought him chocolates this time? He's back there chatting him up and shit. You should see the look on Kurt's face, man. It's hi-lair-ious."

"So what you're telling me is that some _old guy_ is bothering Kurt and you just _left him_?" I cut in.

Puck has the grace to look uncomfortable. "Mr. Hummel. I didn't know you were uh-"

"Let me ask you this: would you have left one of the girls alone with this guy?" Puck glances at Finn. When he stays silent, I think I have my answer. "Where are they?"

Puck motions behind the curtain. "Just outside the greenroom. Down the hall, to the left, and down the stairs."

I push past him and storm down the hall. "Find Schuester and tell him to come find me." Whoever this guy is, it don't sound like he should be hanging around kids. Especially not _my_ _kid. _

_I can't help but think that at some point, some boy is going to come around and Kurt…well…he'll be so happy to find _someone_ that just maybe he'll settle for the wrong someone._

Maybe even a really wrong someone.

I walk faster, barely able to keep myself into breaking into a run.

I see Kurt's gal pal Mercedes and that blonde ex of Finn's coming around the corner, both almost doubled over with laughter.

"We have such an AMAZING connection. It's like you were singing right to me, my bee-you-ti-ful angel," Mercedes swoons before reaching up and wiping an amused tear out of her eye.

The blonde holds up her arms and flaps a little bit as she cries, "Stop, stop…you're making me pee!"

Just maybe I'd find their exchange funny if I didn't have a bad feeling growing in the pit of my stomach concerning the source of their amusement. "Hey," I call out, getting their attention.

"Mr. Hummel!" Mercedes looks startled to see me.

"You seen Kurt?" I ask tersely.

She and the blonde exchange glances, and then sputter again with laughter. "He's just downstairs," Mercedes manages to tell me between giggles. I keep walking, moving a little bit faster.

"Getting his glee on," I hear the blond mutter in a voice I suspect she thinks is low enough that I can't hear.

I break into a run, then. I don't care if I embarrass the hell out of my son by acting like a paranoid parent, but I have a really horrible feeling in my gut. Sure enough, I'm on the stairs when I hear my son's voice, his words striking fear into my heart. "Get off me!"

I practically jump down the rest of the steps and rush toward the voices.

"Ooof! Ugh…let go!"

I'm white with rage as I round the corner. My blood turns to ice in my veins as I see that some bastard has my son pressed up against the wall. With one of his hands, he has both Kurt's tiny wrists pinned above his head. The bastard's other hand is rubbing against my boy's slender waist and hip. Kurt's face is turned away from me, and more to the point, away from his captor's as the creep's leaning in.

I'm closing in, ready to kill when I see Kurt suddenly bring his knee up_, _hitting his intended target square in the groin. I think he hits the guy so hard _I_ feel it. I stop in my tracks as I see the guy hit the ground and then Kurt's bolting, not even bothering to pick up his bag or his angel wings. I don't think he even sees me he's in such a rush to get out of here.

"Kurt," I call out, a lot sharper than I intend to.

His head whips around to see me and he changes course, barreling at me. A moment later, he's wrapped around me, his body trembling against mine. I quickly return his embrace, though my eyes don't leave the…pederast crumpled on the floor. I want so badly to go pound the guy for even thinking about doing what I'm pretty sure he was thinking about doing to my son. But Kurt needs me, so I let go of my rage and focus on him.

"It's okay. I got you, Buddy," I assure him. As I feel his shivering stop, I continue to hold him, tightening with one arm across his back. At the same time I start fishing for my cell phone with my other hand. "Finn's looking for you in the lobby. Why don't you go on out there and wait there with him."

He nods against me, but makes no move to actually go. It's okay. I'll hold him as long as he needs me to. Over his shoulder I watch the creep look up at us and I silently dare him to even try to move. Wisely he stays down.

It takes a couple minutes before Kurt pulls away from me and when he does I am a bit disconcerted to see that he looks…normal. His shoulders are squared and his chin is raised in that proud way of his. He gives me a tired smile that makes my stomach twist. I've seen it countless times and never thought anything of it, other than perhaps 'it's been a long day'. Now I'm going to have to start taking notice when he uses it. Because if I didn't know better, I'd say Kurt was perfectly fine despite the way just a minute ago he was trembling in my arms. I have the distinct feeling that if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes there's no way I would ever be hearing about what just happened.

Somehow I bet that absolutely no one would be hearing about it if it were up to Kurt.

But it's not up to him this time. No way are we letting this go. I'm already dialing my phone.

"Yeah, we're here at the Xavier Auditorium," I inform the operator who answers asking what my emergency is. "My son was just assaulted."

"Dad," Kurt exclaims, though his voice is hushed. He wraps his arms across his chest as though he's giving himself a comforting hug.

The guy on the floor starts trying to get up. "I would not move if I were you," I growl down at him.

"I didn't do anything," the guy starts trying to tell me.

I snort with disgust. "I saw what you were doing."

"You don't understand," he tells me.

Oh I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly.

"Yeah, the perpetrator is still here," I answer the emergency operator's next question.

"Mr. Hummel?" I hear Schuester call out. A moment later he enters the corner of my vision. I see him looking at Kurt, who somehow manages to make himself look even smaller than usual. "Kurt? What's going on?" I flash Schuester a scowl. He should have been aware there was a problem. According to Finn and Puckerman this guy's bothered Kurt more than once. I can't help but why the man I've been trusting to watch out for him hasn't been aware of any of that.

The operator tells me that there are officers less than a block away and that someone will be with us in just a couple minutes. "We're down by the…green room is it called?"

Kurt nods. His face is pale. At least it is on one side. The other side is a lot redder than it should be. It takes me a moment to realize the implication.

The bastard must have hit my son. I hang up the phone. Police are on their way. I figure I've got maybe a minute or two before they're here. It takes every ounce of willpower in my body not to start beating the hell out of the bastard. But I can't do that. Kurt needs me right now.

I think the guy can tell what I'm thinking though because he quickly holds up his hands. "I don't want any trouble."

"No?" I ask, my blood boiling. "That why you've been harassing a fifteen year old kid?" I give Kurt a glance hoping he understands that I'm purposely shaving a time off his age. I know how old he is. I also know how old he _looks_, and that ain't even fifteen.

The man pales. "Fif…? I wasn't harassing. He…we've been…" He seems to think better of whatever he was about to say and stops. That decision may possibly have saved his life.

"What's your name?" I question. I want to make sure this guy ends up on every 'watch list' possible. When he doesn't answer, I flip my phone open again and position it to snap a couple photos of him. I want to make sure every kid knows to be on the look out for this creep.

The guy's face blanches. I feel the corner of my lips twitch as I notice the deep scratches down the guy's face. I bet if we check we'll find a bit of the bastard's skin embedded under Kurt's fingernails.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he informs me as he slowly rises from the ground, using the wall for support. "I didn't know he was fifteen."

I snort. Yeah, I bet he didn't. He probably thought Kurt was younger. "And that makes it all right to pin him up against the wall like that?"

"N-no. It's just that he was flir-"

"You better not finish that sentence. You say 'he wanted it' or that this is somehow his fault and I swear to God you will not live to see another day. He did not want you to corner him. He did not want you touching him."

"No. You don't understand. We have this conn-"

Before I can even think to stop myself I slam my fist into his face and he goes down again. I want to keep hitting, but force myself to stop. Solving problems with violence is not the example I want to set. Last thing Kurt needs right now is for his pop to end up in jail. But I stand over the cowering man. "Let's get this straight. He is not in love with you. You do not have a 'connection' with him. He does not want your flowers. He does not want your chocolates."

I hear people approaching and figure that it's the police.

"So here's what's going to happen," I inform the guy before the officers can take over. "You are going to tell these officers your name. They will verify whether you are on any sort of…offender list." I can see Schuester's eyes getting wider. "Either way, we will be getting a restraining order. Let me be clear; you will not come anywhere near my son. Or anyone else's sons. Or daughters," I add, just in case. "You will not come to any more of these here concerts or any other event put on by these schools."

One of the officers comes into my line of sight and I back off, letting them take over while I turn my attention back to Kurt. I note that several of his friends have followed the officers down here and are trying to crowd around Kurt. None of them look much like laughing anymore.

"I'm so sorry," Mercedes tells Kurt. "I didn't think he'd…" He waves it off and doesn't say anything, though he offers her that same little smile he gave me a bit ago. The one that says 'I'm fine' when he's anything but. I watch as Finn drapes his jacket around Kurt's shoulders; I'm not sure if he thinks that Kurt's holding himself that way because he's cold or if it's his way of comforting, but either way, Kurt's smile becomes more genuine at the gesture.

His expression darkens just a shade, though, as he sees me approaching. I don't take it personal; I'm pretty sure he knows we have a pretty serious talk coming.

First, the most important thing.

"You okay?" I ask, aware of how Kurt's friends part, giving me a clear path to get to him.

Kurt nods. "Yeah. Nothing really happened," he assures me, making sure to glance at each of his friends to tell them the same thing. Apparently he either thinks I'm stupid, or he doesn't realize that I saw what was happening.

"Kurt."

"He just freaked me out," Kurt sounds a little less sure of himself as he admits this. "But…I mean. Nothing happened." He looks at me, his eyes pleading.

That wasn't my definition of nothing, and I don't want something like this to happen again. I'm not dumb. I know why he doesn't want his friends to know what was happening when I got here. I can respect that. What I can't respect is that they were all so quick to abandon him.

"Kurt. You handled yourself pretty good. Hell, kid, you did quite a number on him." His cheeks pink and he looks embarrassed yet pleased as he ducks his head bashfully. I tap his chin until he looks back up at me. "But this could have gone a completely different way." His face pales and once again I notice the bruise that is developing on his cheek. I shudder to think what would have happened if that guy had a weapon. Or if he'd overpowered Kurt enough to keep him from being able to fight back? I know Kurt got himself away from the man, but what if I hadn't been there? What if…?

I feel a lump in my throat. I don't want to embarrass my boys, but just thinking about what might have happened brings water to my own eyes. "You handled yourself good," I repeat my words to Kurt. "But you could have done better."

Kurt looks surprised and a little bit hurt. I smile at him fondly. "This wasn't the first time that guy came at you. He crossed a line. You should have made me aware you had a problem," I explain. "Even if you didn't tell me, you should have told Schuester." I'm still a little mad that Schuester didn't already know, but that's a subject I'll take up with him when Kurt and his friends aren't around to witness it.

"It…wasn't like this before," Kurt tells me. "He was…nice. He was kind of weird but…he seemed harmless enough. Said he liked listening to me sing."

"Yeah. So do a lot of other people." The look Kurt gives me tells me that maybe he doesn't believe that. And suddenly he looks a whole lot more vulnerable, and it makes my heart ache. "Still, you need to let us know if someone's making you uncomfortable." We're far from done with this conversation, but I'll wait until we're not in front of his friends to continue.

Still when I see Mercedes and some of the others nodding in agreement with me I can't help but get angry all over again. "You did good, Kurt, but you should never have even been in this situation." I turn to the others. "You call yourselves Kurt's friends?"

"Dad!" Kurt admonishes me.

"No. I don't doubt you all care about him," I clarify for Kurt's benefit. But this was something they all needed to think about.

I don't get a chance to continue for a moment because one of the officers comes over, needing to get a statement from Kurt.

While the officer leads Kurt away, I turn back to the other kids, who all look really uncomfortable.

As they should.

"Let me ask you this." My eyes meet Mercedes', than the blonde's. "If some old guy were pestering you, do you think that Kurt would've left you alone with him?" They both exchange glances, this time instead of laughing, they both look mortified. "Think he would have laughed about it?"

Mercedes looks like she may cry. "Mr. Hummel, I'm so sorry," she tells me, and I know she means it, but I'm not the one she should be saying it to. I reach out and briefly grasp her shoulder before I leave them to think on that as I trail after Kurt and the officer. Something tells me if left up to his own devices Kurt will do his best to minimize what happened.

I'm not wrong, so I make sure that I get my statements heard as well.

That goes double for when I talk to Schuester after we're done with the police. I know he's a good guy and I know he'd never in a million years intend for something bad to happen to any of his kids, but the fact remains that he was supposed to be watching out for them all, yet had no idea that all fall this guy had taken to repeatedly hanging out at the choir's shows, singling out my boy for an inappropriate amount of attention.

"Nothing like this. Ever happens again," I inform him firmly.

I take Schuester at his word when he assures me he'll pay closer attention. Still, I let him know that I'll be doing my part, too; I'm going to make every effort I can to come to these shows, too.

Of course I don't tell him that I'm mostly doing that because I love watching my boys and their friends performing.

"I'm going to get back to the shop," I let Kurt and Finn know once everything settles. "Got some stuff to catch up on."

"I can help," Kurt offers.

"Don't you have some party to go to?"

"I can go after," he assures me, giving me a hopeful look.

That's when I realize what he's really asking. Honestly I'm not sure I'm ready to let him out of my sight, either. At least I know nothing's going to happen to him on my watch.

"Yeah. Great. I think I got a couple repairs with your name on 'em. I'll meet you there. Then maybe after we can catch a quick dinner…before your party."

He smiles as he nods in agreement.

I reach out to ruffle his hair, and pretend like I think he hates it.

He scowls at me as he reaches up to smooth his hair back into place, but I can see the spark returning to his eyes.

_Love you too, Kid. _

* * *

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who's kept reading. Hope the story's still working for you. I appreciate all comments, including constructive crit. (And flames are great for roasting marshmallows). There's just one more chapter to "Part One: Before", then we'll be returning to poor buried!Kurt's plight (and the plights of those who love him). (And for those who wondered, yes, there will be a Part Three: After). Thanks again! Reviews are loved! (And prod me to keep writing faster)


	4. Chapter 3: Saucerful of Secrets KurtPOV

**Chapter Three: A Saucerful of Secrets ( Kurt POV)**

_Apprehension creeping like a tube-train up your spine – Pink Floyd, Cymbaline_

As I watch my dad walk away, I feel an overwhelming sense of trepidation. All I can think is that I really want to follow him and ask if I can just get a ride with him to the garage. I'm sure Mr. Schue won't mind if I don't ride back to McKinley on the bus and it doesn't make any sense to make Finn drive me all the way home just so I can pick up the Navigator and drive back to the shop. I can argue that we should car pool; be all "Save the Earth" and eco-friendly about it.

I'm about to go make that plea when I notice the way pretty much everyone else is just kind of standing there looking at me with expressions of remorse and pity. Great. If I go running after my dad they'll all think I'm totally damaged or something.

I'm not.

I'm fine.

It's not like anything happened. Not really.

"Are we going to just stand here all day?" I ask as I hastily pick up my bag and the wings for my costume, hoping that everyone will just let this whole thing drop. I don't want to talk about it. It's already humiliating enough that they all know that nasty ephebo-guy was drooling all over me and got a little handsy.

I know how a lot of them think of me anyway. I know some people think that because I'm gay I must be weak. Or that I can't take care of myself. After all, this is the second time today that I've had to be rescued. At least that's how it must look to them. Now I'm not just the kid who gets beat up at school, but I'm the kid who lets himself get felt up by creepy psychos. Not that it got that far, but…I know how it must look considering the police were involved and all.

As I head toward the lobby, Mercedes falls into step beside me, wrapping her arm around mine. I offer her a little smile as I catch her eyeing me with an excruciatingly apologetic look. She smiles back and squeezes my arm tighter for just a moment. It makes me feel slightly claustrophobic. Which is dumb because it's just Mercedes. Still I'm relieved as she loosens her grip.

The bus ride is unusually quiet. Nobody seems to know what to say, so no one says much of anything.

I prefer it that way.

I should have known that Finn wasn't just going to let it go, though. As he's driving me home I catch him watching me far more than he's watching the road. Considering his driving skills-or rather his lack thereof-that's not such a great idea. Besides, I'm starting to feel rather self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"I'm fine, Finn," I insist, feeling a little guilty at how harsh my voice sounds. I know he's just concerned. And he's been really nice today…well at least he has been ever since the incident with the jocks. I can't believe he actually went out and bought me a new pair of wings when the dunderheaded Neanderthals so callously caused me to break mine. He didn't have to do that. Especially since I know he didn't really want me wearing this costume in the first place. I draw his jacket tighter around myself. Considering my disastrous day, he may have been right. I just wanted to look…I don't know.

Okay, I do. I admit it. I wanted to look hot. I wanted to get some boy to notice me. It's not like I have lots of _(any)_ prospects at McKinley, but I thought just maybe I'd catch someone's eye at the Invitational. It never occurred to me that the only eye I'd catch would belong to my psychotic fan. Or that he'd somehow get it in his head I dressed like this just for him. Or that he'd think it was some sort of invitation for him to slobber on and paw at me.

I catch myself absently rubbing my wrists and make myself stop.

Finn turns his attention back to the road, but after a couple more blocks he suddenly pulls over and puts the truck into park.

I can't look at him. I already kind of want to cry and if I have to see his look of _pity_ again I might not be able to stop myself.

"He hit you." The way Finn says it, it's not a question.

"What?" My voice is too loud.

"He hit you. You're bruising."

My hand instinctively flies to my cheek to cover it up. Of course that has the unfortunate effect of putting my wrist (complete with its lovely darkening skin) directly into Finn's line of sight. Which confirms his suspicion. His expression tightens.

"I'm sorry." He sounds so distraught I actually start to feel sorry for him.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," I assure him.

"I should have been there."

I raise an eyebrow and glance at him. "Super Finn to the rescue?" I don't mean to sound bitter, but somehow I do anyway.

Finn looks away, but I can tell I've upset him even more.

I sigh and relent a little bit. "You couldn't have known. You weren't even there when he showed up. And you can't be everywhere at once."

"I should have known, though. I mean…what your dad said? About would we have left a girl alone with him…?" I hadn't heard that. I feel my face turning red with mortification. "I wouldn't have. I thought he was creepy, the way he's followed you around after the last few shows. But…I dunno. I thought you kind of liked the attention. You know. Not like today, obviously, but…before."

I blink. "You thought I liked getting cornered by the friendly neighborhood pedophile?" Technically the guy's an ephebophile, but I know Finn won't have any idea what that means, so I dumb it down.

Finn pales. "What? No! Well…yeah. Kind of. I mean I didn't think he was a…I didn't realize."

To be fair, I hadn't either the first time he came up to me. In fact, I had been completely flattered. Who wouldn't be when someone came up to them and told them they were gorgeous and fantastic? But when he kept showing up at our shows and followed me around it stopped being flattering and started getting a little freaky. Even then, while I didn't like it, I never imagined that he'd try to do anything like he did today.

"I should have been watching out for you," Finn tells me.

"I can take care of myself, Finn." Again I don't mean to sound ungrateful or resentful, but I really hate it when people treat me like I'm frail or incapable.

"No. You can't."

I clench my jaw as I glare at him.

"Like earlier. In the hall-"

I cut him off. "It was four against one. That was hardly my fault. And I was doing just fine without your help." Okay, that probably wasn't entirely true. Trent Nelson had to play the big oaf card and actually picked me up so that I couldn't get away. But the odds weren't exactly fair. Even Finn would have been overpowered in that situation.

Finn snorts. "Right."

My temper flairs. "I'm not completely helpless, Finn. I survived 16 years without your assistance. And need I remind you sometimes with your _hindrance. _So,I don't need you to rescue me. I rescued myself from that guy today. Not you. Not Dad. Me. So thank you for what you did with those guys in the hall, but I don't need you constantly hovering over me. I don't need you to protect me. I do just fine on my own."

With that I push open the passenger side door and slide out of my seat.

"Kurt…"

I grab my things and slam the door shut behind me. We're only about three blocks from home, so it's largely symbolic, but I feel vindicated as I stalk away from him.

That doesn't last long.

I'm only half a block away before I start feeling rather stupid. And guilty.

Finn meant well; I know he did. He wasn't trying to be mean or condescending. And now that I'm alone, I feel really…exposed. I pick up my pace, though I kind of hope that Finn will stop and pick me up as he passes. Or at least that he'll drive slowly alongside me to make sure I get home okay.

I feel like an ass. I get mad at Finn for hovering, and then I secretly hope that he'll hover.

He doesn't pass me, though.

I walk the rest of the block before chancing a look back. Finn hasn't moved.

Part of me wants to go back and apologize.

But I forge ahead. I'll apologize to him once we've both had a little bit of time to cool off. Especially me. I shouldn't have gone off on him like that.

I get all the way home, and when I look back I notice that his truck is gone.

I feel rotten.

I should call and apologize. But I'm afraid to. What if I call and end up picking another fight? I didn't mean to pick the first one. I don't know what's wrong with me. My head's just all over the place.

I stop in the house only long enough to pick up the keys to the Navigator.

For a few moments I consider going to my room and taking a nap, maybe calling Dad and telling him I'm not feeling well. Except then he'll come rushing home. Which would be nice, but I don't want to bother him; I know he's already behind on things because of the show.

I'm sure he'd be all right with it if I told him I'd changed my mind and didn't want to come in, but I kind of don't want to be alone right now.

I still feel really uneasy.

I feel a little better once I reach the garage.

Dad's busy working on an engine, so I quickly put on my coveralls and join him.

Even though we don't talk, just being with him makes me feel a lot more relaxed. We've worked so many jobs over the years that we really get into a groove. I've learned to anticipate what he needs before he needs it. And he's learned how to navigate my moods and give me tasks that I can handle and that will keep my mind occupied when things are bugging me.

It's not until the fourth time the phone rings that I realize that he hasn't been answering it.

"Hard to do business if you don't answer your phone," I say lightly, my curiosity piqued.

Dad smiles faintly, but doesn't reply. The next time it rings, though, he does answer it.

He hangs up after only a few moments.

Oh.

He's been getting _those_ calls today. I've managed to pretty much catch all the calls coming to the house, and since Dad never mentioned them, I assumed the Neanderthals had stopped calling here to the garage. Apparently someone hadn't gotten that memo.

Or more likely, I realize, they've just started up again. Probably because of what happened at school. I should have known that would come back to haunt me again. After all, the members of the Cro-Magnon Squad were all suspended or expelled because of what happened. I know it's not my fault, but I still feel sick knowing that they're harassing my father because of me.

"You think you can take an oil change for me?" Dad asks. He sounds tired.

"Of course. I'll take care of that and Mr. Anteon's tire. You go catch up on all the bookwork you've been avoiding."

He gives me a shrewd look, but nods. "We might just get out of here tonight, yet."

"You're still taking me to dinner," I remind him. He pretends to look disappointed that I remember that. As if I'd fall for that. I can't help but smile as he grumbles all the way back to his office, though.

The phone rings four times while I'm working on the oil change. Wouldn't you know the car belongs to someone named Nelson? I wonder if the owner's any relation to Trent. Maybe it's Trent's car, even, I consider. It really would be such a shame if something were to happen to the brake line while I'm working under Trent's car.

It's a nice dream, but of course I wouldn't actually do anything like that…it'd be too easily traced back to Dad's shop.

The phone rings a fifth time just after I've finished.

I make my way to my dad's office. Maybe if I answer the next one, they can have their fun threatening me directly and then they'll leave us alone.

I can't help but flinch as my dad slams the phone down hard enough that the base actually cracks.

"Dad?" I ask softly, startling him as he whirls around to face me, previously unaware of my presence. The stricken look on his face softens after a few moments and he smiles, though it's clear that it's forced. "Is everything okay?" I feel stupid asking. Clearly if everything were okay he wouldn't have just destroyed the phone cradle.

Dad has the grace to look sheepish as he glances at the phone. "Nothing for you to worry about," he dismisses it. As if I could not worry when he's so upset.

I close my eyes, a lump growing in my throat. "Was it one of those…'anonymous' calls?" I ask, pretty sure I already know the answer. I don't really want to tell him what happened at school because I know I've already put him through a lot today. But he deserves an explanation for why the calls have started up again.

"What?" I look up at the surprise in dad's voice. "Oh, hey, no," he assures me. After a few beats his brow raises. "You still getting' those?"

It's my turn to look sheepish. "Sometimes," I admit, knowing that I'm caught anyway. "Nothing I can't handle." Dad doesn't look happy at my answer, so I elaborate. "Just a little name calling is all." That's not exactly true, but it takes more than anonymous cowards slinging empty threats to scare me, and there's no point in concerning Dad any more than he already frets about me. I'm pretty sure that Dave Karofsky and his merry band of apes account for the overwhelming majority of the calls. It's the voices I don't recognize that sometimes make me consider involving Dad, but really it's pointless. All they are is talk.

Dad still doesn't look happy with my answer, but nods slightly as he lets out a small sigh. "You tell me if it's anything more than that," he commands, looking at me pointedly.

I know I'm lying as I nod the affirmative.

It's not until he's turned away that I realize that Dad has managed to throw me off track. "So if it wasn't one of _those_ calls…?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," he repeats firmly.

I purse my lips, unsatisfied with that answer. "Dad," I try one more time to get an answer.

"Leave it alone, Kurt," he snaps.

I step back, unnerved by the sharp tone of his voice. "I…sorry," I stammer, startled by his anger toward me. I step back, my presence is clearly no longer welcome. "I'll just go finish putting Mr. Anteon's tire on the rim," I hastily inform him as I back up another step, then turn to flee.

"Kurt," he calls after me, his tone contrite. I pretend not to hear him. He expects me to share my problems, but won't reciprocate, so I'll just give him his space until he's ready to talk to me.

I've just finished checking the balance of Anteon's tire when Dad appears in my peripheral vision. As a peace offering he has brought me the air compressor. Without a word he attaches it to the valve and begins inflating the new tire.

"I had to let the new guy go yesterday," he informs me. I glance at him curiously. "Caught him pocketing money from the till. He uh…he didn't take it so good."

I realize that he's telling me about what had him so upset a few minutes earlier. Why he hadn't just told me before I have no idea. It didn't seem like such a big deal. Well, obviously it was a big deal that someone was stealing, but why Dad felt he had to hide that from me was beyond me.

"So that was him just now?" I ask as I pull the tire gauge from my belt to test the pressure.

Dad scowls. "He seems to think that I wasn't being gracious enough to only fire him and not call the police."

"Why didn't you?" I'm genuinely curious.

Dad absently runs his knuckles against his chin. "The guys' got enough troubles right now. Somethin' going on with his wife or his kid or something. I felt bad firing the guy." Why? The guy clearly deserved it! He called the police about my "fan" today when nothing really happened, but doesn't call when someone steals from him? Of course it does make sense that if something was going on with the guy's family, Dad would feel bad. Family is kind of a soft spot for him. Dad sighs. "But I can't have him around if I can't trust him." After a few moments the corner of his lip twitches upward. "Not sure why he thinks threatening me would make me reconsider."

"He threatened you?" I square my shoulders as I look at my dad incredulously. "And you didn't think I should worry?" I suspect my indignation would be far more effective if my voice hadn't just raised an octave.

Dad grins as he reaches out and tousles my hair, even though I've told him a million times not to do that. He looks even more amused as I immediately reach up to smooth it back into place. "He's just bein' a guy," my dad excuses.

I beg to differ. I'm a guy and that's not something _I_ would do.

Dad catches me starting to scowl and amends, "Blowin' off some steam." He reaches out and taps me under the chin until I raise my eyes to meet his. "Nothing for _you _to worry about," he repeats. I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off before I can. "No more than I need to worry about those calls you been getting, right?" He raises an eyebrow, challenging me.

My mouth snaps shut.

"You good to finish up?" Dad asks as I use my gauge to confirm that the tire is filled to the correct PPI.

"Yeah. Should be just a couple minutes."

"All right. I'm going to run over to the bank. How about you lock up and then come meet me over at Breadstix for some grub?"

I nod and catch the keys as he tosses them to me.

Once he's gone, I lower Anteon's car and move it out to the lot so that I can lock up the garage bays. I sit in the car for just a few moments when I hear the phone ringing inside the garage. Despite what Dad has to say on the matter, I can't help but worry. I mean, some guy is actually calling up and threatening my _dad_. It's one thing when the Cro-Mags make a sport out of tormenting me, but I'm hardly a physical threat to them and they know it. My dad, on the other hand…he can get pretty scary. People don't threaten him lightly.

Not like me.

I shiver, suddenly feeling exposed again.

I lock up Anteon's car and quickly hurry back into the garage, shut and lock the bay doors.

The phone rings again as I'm changing out of my overalls.

If there's one situation I've gotten used to, it's dealing with morons over the phone. I rush over to pick it up. "Hummel Tire and Lube," I answer, just in case it's an actual customer.

It's not.

But it's also not some guy threatening my father.

I'm honestly relieved when I recognize Trent Nelson's voice. "You think you're so smart getting me expelled?"

I let out a small snort. Of course he blames me. "Yes, thank you. It was a rather clever plan on my part. Making you cause me bodily harm in front of witnesses."

"Watch yourself, Fag," he growls and hangs up.

I can't believe my dad lied to me.

I should have seen it. Of course the calls were about me after the expulsions and suspensions. Besides, my father's story had a few holes in it. I can't imagine that he really wouldn't have called the police if he caught someone stealing from the shop. Especially if the guy started threatening him. That should have been a dead giveaway, too. Nobody threatens my dad. Either my dad would call the police, or the guy's body would never be found depending on dad's mood.

I know I should be mad that Dad lied, but I know why he did it.

He thought that he was protecting me. Misguided as it was that he chose to do so over something as silly as crank calls. I can't believe he thought that it'd scare me less to know that it was just more of the same rather than some guy threatening him. I'll have to talk to him about his 'protection' ideas at dinner. He needs to know that I can deal with cowards like Nelson. Still, I love that he wanted to protect me. It's hard to get mad about that.

Except when it's Finn.

I feel guilty all over again. And I still haven't called to apologize. I really should do that. I'll just lock up and then I'll call him.

I double check the bay doors to make sure they're secure, turn off all the lights, then head to the front door to let myself out.

As I turn to lock it back up behind me, I realize that I've accidentally left Finn's jacket in my locker. I'm pretty sure my cell phone is in its pocket, too. I turn around and head back inside to grab it.

I retrieve the jacket and pull out my cell phone. I've put this off long enough.

I dial Finn's cell number.

He doesn't answer. He's probably figured out that he should be furious with me for how I treated him, so I can't say that I blame him for ignoring my call.

I sit down on the bench and wait for the beep.

"Hello, Finn Hudson," I greet his voicemail awkwardly. I don't know why I always seem to feel the need to use his full name when we talk on the phone. At least I don't tack on his middle name, too. How embarrassing would that be? "It's Kurt." As if he doesn't know my voice by now. Okay, so, I'm stalling. "You have every right to be mad at me. So, I want to apologize for how I acted earlier. I shouldn't have taken everything out on you. You didn't do anything wrong. This whole thing…it's all on me. And I'm sorry." There. That should do it. "So…um…I'm going to go now," I tack on quietly before hanging up the phone.

I know I should feel better having cleared the air, but it would've been a lot better if I'd been able to talk to him directly. I know Finn's not the type to hold a grudge, but I'd still feel better knowing he's forgiven me.

Maybe I should try calling him again.

I punch in the number and am about to hit "send" when I feel the hair on the back of my neck rising. I glance over my shoulder but see no one. It's just my imagination, I guess, but I can't shake the feeling like I'm being watched.

I didn't lock the door. My mouth is suddenly dry.

"Dad?" I call out tentatively, hoping that maybe he finished at the bank already and had to stop back for something.

There's no answer.

I need to get out of here, but the exit suddenly seems a really long way away.

I'm being silly. There's no one here. Just me.

My heart rate speeds up anyway.

I slam my locker shut and start heading for the front door at a quick pace.

I almost laugh at how ridiculous I am when I get outside. I don't know what's wrong with me today. It's just that it's been a long day and with what happ…not that anything actually happened, but it's made me jittery anyway.

My heart rate starts returning to normal as I hit the door lock button for the Navigator and its lights turn on. Feeling much more secure, I turn to lock the garage door behind me.

I start going through the key ring to single out the one for the front door when my anxiety flairs up again. I try to ignore it, but this time I'm almost positive that I'm not imagining it. I glance up…and in the reflection of the garage door window I see someone rushing toward me.

I don't have time to even react before I find myself pressed hard against the glass. I try to cry out, but a hand slaps over my mouth. I try to stomp down on my attacker's feet, but he has me pinned with too much of his weight and I can't even raise my leg enough to get a good momentum going.

I feel a prick in my neck. A needle.

No!

I press against the glass and push my body back as hard as I can, hoping to be able to gain enough room to try and wriggle free, but my assailant is much too strong.

I feel a strange cold spreading rapidly through my body. And no matter how hard I try, my struggle seems to get weaker and weaker.

My arms feel heavy. I can't fight any more.

And it's getting hard to keep my eyes open.

Super Finn, where are you when I need you to hover over me?

And I'm being lifted.

Hauled over a shoulder like I weigh nothing at all.

I want to kick, lash out, fight my way free, but I can't even keep my head up anymore. My arms dangle uselessly down my captor's back.

Little black dots begin to cloud my vision.

I can't pass out now.

I just…

can't…

My assailant pops open the back of the Navigator and a moment later my body is swung and I flop into the storage area. I can't move. I can't even roll over to try and sit up. I feel the keys and phone being pulled from my infuriatingly loose grip.

The door slams closed.

And I'm…

_gone_.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's taken the time to comment-I really appreciate the encouragement. And it really does help me keep focused on getting the next section written/posted as quickly as possible when I know people are actually reading!

This is the end of Part I: Before. Part II should start posting soon.


	5. Chapter Four:Eclipse BurtPOV

Part Four: Eclipse (BurtPOV)

"_And I suffer premonitions; confirm suspicions…of the holocaust to come." -Pink Floyd Two Suns in the Sunset (Waters)_

It's late enough by the time I get to Breadstix that there's no wait for a table. I order a stein, some garlic bread, and some of the weird fondue appetizer thing that Kurt always seems to enjoy.

It feels good to just sit and relax.

It's been a hell of a day.

My brew's half gone and the appetizers get to the table, but Kurt hasn't turned up yet. Maybe I should've stopped back by the garage to make sure he wasn't having trouble closing up. There could've been a last minute repair or something.

I've finished my beer and eaten my half of the garlic bread before I pull out my cell phone. No missed calls or messages. I dial Kurt, but after a few rings I'm directed to voicemail. That isn't like him. Unless he's in the middle of an oil change or something.

I try not to worry as I give him a few more minutes. It don't work so good, though. I start thinking about that guy today and how callously he tried to destroy my son. When I think about what might have happened…hell, when I think about what _did _happen I…it kills me.

I know Kurt wants me to think that everything's fine, that the guy didn't get to him. But I know my Kurt. And I know what happened today wasn't 'nothing' like he insists. I know how important being in control is to my son, and though it may have only been a few moments, he'd had that control ripped away from him. It had shaken him severely, whether he'd ever admit it or not. Just those few moments put a huge dent in his normally fierce independence. He says he's fine, but 'fine' don't send my boy to hide out with me at the garage. Not that I don't love having him around, but I know that he don't usually want to hang out with his old man after one of his concert things.

He don't usually turn down time with his friends to have dinner with me, neither. He's been looking forward to this big party thing tonight, yet he's already missing part of it. Though I'm sure he'll pass it off as being 'fashionably late'.

I don't know nothing about how late is fashionable, but I think he may be past it already. I look at my watch.

Even if there was a last minute oil change, he should have been here by now.

Or at the very least, Kurt's a pretty responsible kid, and he hates it when I worry. He would have called me if he knew he was going to be delayed.

I try calling his cell one more time. Still no answer. There's no answer at the shop, either.

There's no way he would've forgotten about meeting me, but maybe he realized he forgot something at home. I call there, just in case.

"Hey, Babe," I greet Carole as she answers the phone. "Did Kurt stop home, by chance?"

"I haven't seen him," she replies. "Is everything okay?"

It's not time to worry Carole just yet, so I answer, "There was some stuff earlier, but I'll tell you about it when I get home. I'm sure everything's fine. He's supposed to meet me for dinner and he's not answering his phone."

I hesitate for another few minutes before I call Finn. I can't imagine Kurt forgetting about dinner, but maybe he stopped to check out the party for a couple minutes. From what I gathered it was only a few blocks away from here, so it wasn't completely out of the question.

Finn doesn't answer his phone and I don't leave a message.

I'm not really hungry anymore, but I eat another piece of bread.

Maybe the party's just loud. I'm sure that's it. It's loud and Kurt and Finn haven't heard their phones.

I try a little bit of the fondue stuff on the last piece of bread. It's cold and gloppy.

There is no way Kurt would be this late without calling me.

I wave the waitress over, already pulling my wallet out and handing her more than enough to cover my bill and a tip. I don't wait for change.

Traveling the three blocks back to the garage takes an eternity. The feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach grows when I don't see the Navigator parked outside. I should probably feel better and figure that he's gone to that party and forgotten to check in with me.

But that just don't sound like Kurt.

Maybe he's left me a message inside or something.

I park and hurry to the front door before I remember that I gave him the shop keys. I pound my fist against the glass door in frustration. Then grab the handle and give it a yank…only to have it unexpectedly open.

My chest tightens.

Kurt didn't lock the door.

There's no way he would leave the shop without locking up.

But the Navigator is gone.

"Kurt!" I call out, rushing into the dark garage. I flip on every light and look around wildly. I never thought I'd pray for such a thing, but I'm praying that maybe Kurt's been robbed, had the car stolen and is here…tied up and frightened but okay. Please, God, let that be what's happening.

Or maybe it's some sort of sick Halloween prank.

Kurt would never do that to me, though. He's always telling me how worried he is about my heart. He'd never try to scare me like this.

"Kurt!" I call as I frantically search every nook and cranny. Open every locker. Check the bathrooms. The office, the pit…

He's not here.

But he has to be.

I grab the keys for each of the cars still in our lot and head out to the lot to check each of them.

"Kurt! Kurt if you can hear me, I need you to call out!"

I hold my breath and listen, but there's nothing. Not a single damn peep.

But I start popping trunks anyway. I don't know why I'm bothering. I can't imagine that someone would lock him in a trunk then come back inside and hang the keys, but…he's got to be here.

Please, God, I don't ask for much. Just let him be here.

But he's not.

Maybe he's home by now.

"He still hasn't shown up?" Carole's voice echoes my concern after shooting down my hope that he was there, safe.

"No. And…he didn't lock up the garage," I can barely force myself to say the words. "But he's not here."

Something is wrong.

"Have you called the police?"

Kurt's always worrying about my heart, and in that moment I'm pretty sure he's got reason to be. My chest constricts and I can't breathe. My cell phone tumbles from my fingers.

No.

I drop to my knees, fighting off nausea as I scramble to retrieve my phone. My vision has gone completely blurry, but Carole's increasingly desperate sounding voice calling to me guides me. I hang up without a word-I can't speak. I flip the phone back open and punch in 9-1-1.

I should never have left Kurt alone.

Not today.

Not after what happened with that guy.

God.

What if…

The police officer who'd taken our statements said he would file a temporary protection order for me, but what if when they took him in they found out that he didn't have any sort of record? What if they let him go already? I didn't even know the guy's name! The officer had instructed me to stop down to the station later to pick up my copy of the report and the protection order. I didn't even ask his name; what kind of father am I that I didn't even ask? The man attacked my son, I should have his name embedded in my brain. I have his picture on my phone, but that won't do me any good.

Why hadn't it even occurred to me that once the police took him, that wouldn't be the end of it? The guy had possibly been stalking Kurt for…_months_. How naïve was I to think that he'd give up just because he got a little slap on the wrist?

They might have let him go with just that temporary protection order…that more than likely has Kurt's name on it. Surely they wouldn't have put our address, but there ain't that many Hummels around this town; that name could easily have led the guy right to Hummel Tire & Lube. Where I left my son. Alone and vulnerable. And so…small.

How could I have been so reckless with his life?

"Can you hear me?" I realize that the operator has been trying to get my attention.

"I'm here," I acknowledge her.

"What is the nature of your emergency?"

"My son…" I can't say the words.

I can't.

Kurt's fine.

He's at that party.

He's being a thoughtless, irresponsible teenager, unaware that he's scaring his father half to death. More than half. He's hanging by a thread, kid. Better show yourself!

He's not been taken.

He's not being…

_Some bastard has my son pressed up against the wall. With one of his hands, he has both Kurt's tiny wrists pinned above his head. The bastard's other hand is rubbing against my boy's slender waist and hip. Kurt's eyes are squeezed shut and he's cringing, his head turned away from the creep as the bastard leans in._

I drop the phone as my stomach begins to expel everything I'd just eaten.

I can hear the operator asking for my location, but I can't give it.

"Burt?" I hear Finn's voice, but I can't answer him. I can't stop my stomach from heaving, though I've run out of contents to eject. I pick up my phone and throw it a little ways, hoping it'll make enough noise to draw his attention.

A moment later I see his silhouette in the doorway.

"Burt!"

"Sir, can you hear me?" I can barely hear the operator.

But Finn hears her, too, and he scrambles for the phone.

"Hummel Tire and Lube," he rattles off the address. "We need an ambulance. I don't know what's going on, but he's really sick..."

"P-olice," I manage to choke out.

I see confusion on Finn's face, but he asks the operator to send a car. "I don't know," he responds to a question. "My mom just called me and told me to get here. She didn't say…I don't know."

I want more than anything to be able to help, but I can't get my body to obey. I can't stop heaving. I can't breathe. There's a terrible pain in my chest. I feel like I'm burning.

Somewhere out there, my son is being…destroyed. And I can't do anything. I can't…

I feel Finn's hand on my shoulder.

His face, wide-eyed, and drop-jawed, is the last thing I see before my body gives in to the darkness.


	6. Chapter Five: Party Sequence FinnPOV

A/N: Sorry for such a long delay on this one. It's been crazy busy in my world and I've been dividing my limited writing time between several other WIPs (a couple RPFs and a Kurt/Mercedes fic on the glee_angst_meme, a kurtbigbang story that'll eventually be posted here, and am participating in the fox_las (last author standing) livejournal community challenge this round, Shameless plug: if you have time and are willing to read some short stories, please vote at community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/fox_las. Voting ends on Sunday evening...)

I assure you I'm not abandoning this story, and I'll try really hard not to let it go so long without an update again! I just got a little stuck on this chapter...but I'm back on track!

**Part Five: Party Sequence (FinnPOV)**

_Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise. –Dogs, Pink Floyd _

Rachel is really cute when she wrinkles her nose. Unfortunately whenever she does it, she usually also says something that I really don't want to hear. This time is no different.

"I think we should leave," she informs me.

The party hasn't even started yet. It's all just a lot of loud music, a few guys crowded around the meager beer supply, a few in the back room smoking stuff.

Oh, and of course Santana and Brit have already hooked up with a couple guys and are making out in the living room.

Occasionally including the guys.

I think they're why Rachel's so uncomfortable, since she's still wearing the same angel costume they are, I think she's afraid she's going to be expected to act the same way. Not that I'd mind if we did, but maybe we could do it someplace a little less public. And without including other girls. Or guys.

"We just got here," I protest, even though I'm not really into partying tonight, either. If we were going to go somewhere and make out, I'd be cool with it, but I know if we leave we're going to end up going somewhere and talking and I'm not in the mood for talking tonight. Given, she'll probably do most of the talking anyway, so I probably shouldn't worry.

Rachel purses her lips but doesn't argue.

"Let's at least wait until…" I try to think of someone that Rachel might want to spend time with but come up empty so, I supply the first name that comes to mind, "…Kurt gets here."

Rachel doesn't entirely look happy, but she agrees anyway. Which kind of sucks because I'm not sure I actually want to be here when Kurt gets here. He's kind of ticked at me right now, though I'm not really clear on why. He said it himself that I couldn't have known that some guy was going to hurt him. But then he flips out when I tell him I still feel bad about not protecting him. And he got really pissed when I reminded him how I helped him out with those guys in the hall. What's up with that?

As it turns out, Kurt doesn't even show up at the party. It's probably for the best because I'm pretty sure I spotted Kent Jacobs and Azimio Adams hanging out in the back room and where they are, Dave Karofsky and Trent Nelson are probably not far away. That is assuming that their parents haven't completely chained them up in their rooms or something. There's no way my mom would've let me go to a party the night after I got expelled. Not that she would've let me out after getting suspended, either.

I don't think either of them saw me, but I think it's probably best not to tempt fate. They're probably pretty pissed at me, considering I'm the one who narc-ed on them. I probably should've waited until they weren't in the room to do that.

"I think we should leave," I suggest to Rachel.

She gives me a look that I can't quite read, but agrees pretty quickly.

We're not quite to the door when we run into Mercedes. "Have you heard from Kurt?" she asks me, looking worried. "We had plans to meet earlier, but he didn't show. And now he's not answering his phone." I shake my head. She looks even more upset. "That ain't like my boy. Even when he's mad at me, he doesn't just disappear."

"I am sure that Kurt is fine," Rachel assures her. "He probably needs some space after what happened this afternoon."

I nod, though I tend to agree with Mercedes on this. Kurt's usually not the type to hide from people. He kind of tends to get right up in your face, actually. Well, at least if he's mad. I guess I've never seen him upset before; I didn't even know he did that, to be honest.

"We're going to head back to our house," I tell Mercedes. "I'm sure Kurt's probably there if you want to come over," I suggest. She looks unsure of her welcome, but Rachel smiles encouragingly. When she still hesitates, I offer, "Or I can text you if he's there."

Mercedes looks over her shoulder at the rest of the party, frowning. "Nah. I'll follow you guys, if that's okay."

We're on our way home when mom calls.

"Finn!" she sounds frantic as she answers the phone. "Something's…something's happened. I need you to get to the garage."

I frown. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure, but I think Burt really needs someone with him. I'm calling the police to meet you over there."

"The police?" I ask.

Rachel sits up, her eyes widening with alarm.

"Be careful, Finn. If you can't see Burt when you get there, I want you to stay outside and wait for the police."

"What's going on?" I repeat the question.

But she doesn't answer. "Mom?" I realize that she's already hung up. Probably to call the police.

We've already gone a couple blocks past the garage, so I make a quick U-Turn, wincing as Mercedes slams on her brakes to avoid running into me. I probably should have signaled or something.

I pull into the Hummel Tire & Lube parking lot and see Burt's pickup stopped right near the door. For some reason, he left the driver's side door wide open.

Rachel grips my arm as I park next to his truck. "Finn, what's going on?"

"I don't know. My mom told me I needed to get over here. Something's happened to Burt." I pull away from her and get out of the truck.

We both look into the garage; all the lights are on, but I don't see Burt-or anyone else-through any of the windows. I know mom told me to stay outside, but what if Burt's hurt or something. What if like he was under one of those car lift things and it fell? He could be like crushed under it or something.

"Stay here," I instruct Rachel as I make my way to the front door. I push it open cautiously, glancing over my shoulder as I see Mercedes getting out of her car and walking toward Rachel.

"Burt?" I call out as I take a cautious step inside the shop. I know I shouldn't be going in. This is like one of those horror scenes where some guy has been…no, Burt's not been chopped up into little pieces. And there's no boogey man waiting for me to step inside.

I take another few steps. I don't see anyone. Which is good in that I'm not seeing like guys with guns holding him up or something, but…if he's not here, then why is the door unlocked and the lights on and everything? If this were like a horror movie they'd be turned off so I couldn't see what was coming.

Maybe he's in the office. I start in that direction when I hear something skitter across the floor.

I whirl around, half expecting there to be some sort of ax-wielding psycho coming at me, but instead there's nothing.

I know I heard something, though.

I swallow hard and walk toward the sound. After a few more steps I spot something out of the corner of my eye. A pale hand on the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, fearing that I've found the first severed body part, but then I realize I didn't see any blood. If there's no blood, it's not severed. And if it's not severed it's-

"Burt!"

I take another step into the room and see him sprawled on the floor looking deathly pale as he looks up at me.

"Sir, can you hear me?" I hear a faint voice and my eyes dart toward it. Burt's cell phone. I hurry over to it and grab it up.

"If you can hear me, can you tell me your location?" a woman's voice asks. I stare at Burt, crumpled on the floor and realize that he must've been calling for help.

"Hummel Tire and Lube," I answer her. "It's on 8th and Washington," I add. "We need an ambulance."

"Can you state the nature of your emergency?"

"I don't know what's going on, but he's really sick," I explain, my eyes going back to Burt. His mouth is moving and I realize he's trying to tell me something, but I can't understand what, and the woman is still talking to me, too. Asking me questions I don't know how to answer. "I don't know," I repeat; didn't I just tell her that I didn't know what was going on? "My mom called me and told me to get here. She didn't say what the problem was."

"Is the victim bleeding?"

"I don't know!" I look back to Burt and don't see any red. Just…the pool of vomit by his head. Gross. "I don't think so. He's sick and he's really pale and sweating and…I think he's having trouble breathing." I hurry closer, dropping onto my knees.

Burt's eyes don't look like they're focusing on me. Or on anything else, either. And he's turning kind of a grey color. I reach out and grip his shoulder. "Burt? Are you okay?" I ask stupidly. Of course he's not. But I don't know what to do! Burt's eyes flutter and then his head lulls to the ground. I'm not even sure he's breathing!

"Burt!" I cry out, dropping the phone. Jesus. I don't think he is breathing. I think he's…I shake him gently, then a little bit harder when he doesn't respond. "Oh, God," I look around wildly, hoping that somehow the paramedics have gotten here already. I'm not sure how long they were on the phone with Burt before I got here, maybe they were already on their way; don't they have computers and stuff that track calls as soon as they come in?

But then why would they make me tell them where we were? Oh, God. They're probably not going to be here for another few minutes. And Burt's…no, he can't be dead.

Okay, I can't panic.

I have to think.

Didn't we have some sort of lecture about this in health class or something? I think we did, but…I kind of remember spacing it out and playing paper football with Puck that hour because when was I ever going to need to know that stuff, right?

Okay, so in hindsight I probably should have been paying attention. But maybe the lady on the phone can help me. I look around for where I dropped it.

"He's not breathing. I think maybe he's had a heart attack," I blurt out as I grab the phone up again.

"I've dispatched an ambulance to your location, they should be there in two minutes," the woman assures me. "Is there anyone there with you?"

"No," I start to tell her, on the verge of panicking again. But then I remember that I'm not alone, after all. "My girlfriend's outside." I lower the phone for a moment and call out, "Rachel!"

"Finn?" I hear her calling back. "Is everything okay?"

"No! I need help!"

A moment later she and Mercedes both appear in the doorway. Mercedes's eyes widen as she sees Burt on the floor. Rachel immediately drops down beside me, and begins pressing her hands against Burt's chest.

Mercedes stares at me for a moment before she, too springs into action, dropping down beside Rachel, who begins instructing her what to do. CPR. The thing I should've been able to start doing, too. Even if I wasn't paying attention in class, I've seen it done hundreds of times on TV, except that they have those little air bag things instead of breathing directly into the guy's mouth. Mercedes leans down to do that, but stops. "I think he actually is breathing," she says, and Rachel stops what she's doing to lean closer to his face.

"He is breathing," she agrees and I feel a great wave of relief.

I feel numb as I watch the two of them trying to make my almost-father more comfortable. I should be doing that. I should be helping. I should be doing something. Anything, other than sitting here feeling stupid and useless.

I hear sirens in the distance.

"The ambulance should be approaching," I hear the operator telling me.

"Yeah. I hear them, I'll go meet them out front," I tell her, already getting to my feet. I see the ambulance pulling into the lot right as I reach the door. I hang up the phone and motion for the EMTs to follow me. One does while the others get their equipment out of the back. "He's in here," I direct them, a lump forming in my throat. "I think maybe he had a heart attack."

I can't watch as the paramedics gather around Burt, gently pushing Mercedes and Rachel out of the way.

Mercedes pulls out her cell phone. It takes me a moment to realize that she's calling Kurt. Oh, geez. I should have done that! He should be here. Mercedes hangs up; Kurt's not answering his phone.

Of all the times for him to decide to disappear and ignore everyone!

There's no way he'd ignore a call from his dad, though.

I flip open Burt's phone and dial the number.

After a few rings it goes to his voice mail.

I hang up, silently cursing Kurt.

It really isn't like him not to answer when his dad calls, though. I'd think it'd be a little scary trying to ignore Burt, but more than that, Burt's really the most important thing in Kurt's life; he wouldn't just not answer the phone.

The paramedics have Burt loaded onto a gurney and are heading back toward the ambulance. I'm torn; I should go get mom and keep trying to find Kurt, but…it doesn't seem right that Burt should be left alone, either.

Rachel gives me a little nudge, urging me to follow the paramedics. "I'll go get your mom and meet you at the hospital."

I could kiss her, but that would slow everyone down, so I turn and race after the paramedics, who direct me into a passenger seat, telling me to stay back so they can work."

"Is he going to be okay?" I ask, my voice shaking a little bit.

"He's tachycardic but stable," one of the guys says, not completely answering my question. I don't know what the tacky thing is all about, but before I can ask he tells me, "We'll know more once we get him on a monitor."

I close my eyes and lean back in the seat, jerking as Burt's cell phone lets out a loud beeping noise.

I glance at the caller ID and am slightly relieved as I see it's a text message from Kurt. A picture message, subject line: Dad.

I pull up the message.

There's no text at all, only a picture.

It's of Kurt, who appears to be sleeping peacefully, still wearing his angel costume. It doesn't look like he's in his own bed, but I figure maybe this is his way of telling his dad that he's spending the night somewhere. Why he didn't text the message is beyond me, but I guess the picture gets the point across, and Burt's probably used to all the weird things Kurt does like this.

I dial Kurt's number again.

He doesn't answer, but Burt's phone lets out another beep as we're pulling into the hospital lot.

Again there's just a picture. This time the subject line reads, "Daddy." A little over the top, but that's Kurt for you. I open the picture.

I gape at it a few moments, startled by the image of Kurt sprawled out on the same bed, mostly still wearing his ridiculously femme angel costume, though now the wings are gone and the laces on his top seem to have been removed. Without the lace to hold it closed, his top is spread open, revealing Kurt's pale, thin torso. His head is tilted back, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth open as though he's panting.

What the hell, Kurt? I quickly delete the picture, feeling ill. Who sends a picture like that to their own father?

I start to put the phone away before I start thinking about it a little bit.

I'm still disturbed that Kurt would send a picture like that to his dad, but…something else starts to bother me about it. Like…who took the picture? Or the other one.

I dial Kurt's number again, but again there's no answer.

My stomach churns a little bit, but I have to put that all to the back of my mind as I follow the paramedics into the emergency entrance and straight back into an exam room, where they immediately transfer Burt to a bed and start attaching wires and stuff to him. One of the doctor-type people explains to me that it's an EKG machine and they're checking for heart damage or something.

Burt's phone beeps again.

"You'll need to take that outside; we don't allow cell phones in this area."

I nod and head back outside. Mercedes is just on her way in as I'm on the way out. She turns around to follow me as I flip Burt's phone open.

Another picture.

I frown at the subject line. Tell no one or…

Or what?

I open the picture and nearly drop the phone as the image appears on the screen.

"Finn?" Mercedes asks, her voice full of concern.

She shouldn't see this. I flip the phone closed quickly.

"You look sick," she states, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, you need to sit down."

She directs me back into the hospital and pushes me down into one of the chairs. "You need a bucket?"

What?

"You going to throw up?" she asks at my confusion.

I shake my head, even though I'm not entirely sure that I'm telling the truth.

"He's going to be okay," she assures me, rubbing my back soothingly.

I'm not so sure. I look at the cell phone still clutched in my hands. He wasn't okay. He was in a lot of trouble. But I can't tell her. I can't tell anyone.

I'm not even supposed to know; it's Burt's phone!

What am I supposed to do?

"You sure you don't need a bucket?"

"What?" Mercedes smiles weakly. "Oh. No. I'm…fine," I lie.

"I haven't been able to get ahold of Kurt yet. I'm going to go out and try again. If you think you're going to be okay for a minute…?"

I nod, forcing myself to smile as she stares at me a few more moments as though sizing me up. As soon as she turns her back I open Burt's phone again, my hand shaking as I pull up the last picture again.

"I'm fine, now let me up," I hear Burt's voice bellowing from the exam area.

I launch myself to my feet and hurry back there. Burt's sitting up and is trying to detach the wires taped to his chest.

"Sir, you need to lie still," I hear someone telling him.

"No, you don't understand," he growls at the nurse trying to push him back down. He looks up as I make my way into the room. "Finn! Did you get the police?" Police? I shake my head. His lips purse for a moment. "Kurt? Did you find him?" I shake my head again. I want to show him the picture, but…what if it causes him to have another heart attack? And I can't say anything because I can't tell anyone.

I don't know what to do!

"Please, sir, I need you to calm down and lie back, please," the nurse tries again to get Burt to settle back.

"I'm refusing treatment," Burt tells her. "Get me whatever forms you need me to sign," he adds, glaring when she starts to protest again. As soon as she's out of the room, Burt slides from the bed, ripping off the last bits of medical tape and pulling his shirt closed.

"Burt…" My mind races as I try to figure out how to tell him what's going on. I'm not stupid, the last thing he should be doing right now is stressing. And there's no way he won't stress when he sees the pictures on his phone.

"Did you call the police?" Burt asks, apparently forgetting that he'd already asked me that.

"No," I repeat my answer. He reaches for the hospital phone, but I reach out and grab his arm to stop him.

He looks at me questioningly.

"We can't."

He gapes at me. "What do you mean we can't?" he asks sharply, his eyes narrowing.

"I mean…" I swallow hard, gripping the cell phone harder in my hand. "I…"

"Finn, do you know something you're not telling me?"

I nod.

Burt gives me a bemused look. "Well?"

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, unsure what I should do. I wish mom were here. She'd know.

"Finn?" I hear her voice call from somewhere behind me, my wish miraculously granted. Without answering Burt I turn and hurry out to the desk where Mom is currently asking after Burt. As soon as she sees me, she abandons the clerk and rushes to me, pulling me into a tight hug. "Finn, thank God. Is Burt okay?"

I shake my head. "Mom…something's happened to…" I glance back over my shoulder and see Burt shuffling toward us. "I don't know what to…" I thrust Burt's phone into Mom's hands.

She looks confused but after a moment she takes a look at the screen.

All the blood rushes out of her face and for a moment I think maybe she's going to pass out.

Rachel and Mercedes must think so, too, because suddenly they're both beside her, holding her up.

"Oh my…" Rachel gasps, having seen what was on the screen.

"Is that…" Mercedes starts to ask something, but stops.

"A sick joke," Rachel responds, reaching to take the phone from Mom. "It's a joke, right?" Rachel looks at me.

"I…don't think so."

"We need to call the police," Mom says.

"It says not to tell anyone," I tell her in case she didn't see that.

She hesitates just long enough for Burt to reach us. "What's going on?" he asks slowly, his eyes settling on his phone now in Rachel's hands. She looks to me, as though I'll know what to do. But I don't. And in a moment, Burt pulls the phone away from her and flips it around to look at the picture of his son. Laid out in a coffin. Still and pale as death.

After a few moments looking at the picture, Burt thrusts it back at me and turns back to the clerk. In an overly calm voice, he instructs her, "Call the police."


End file.
